The Sons He Wished He Had
by Winchesterforlife
Summary: Bobby Singer never had any children. But the Winchester boys were close enough. When they both get sick-seriously sick-what will he do?
1. Chapter 1

Bobby Singer had never had any children.

Not that he hadn't wanted any-he and his wife had been trying when _it _happened. After that, he just never healed enough to find someone else to try with. It was lonely, living out in the middle of nowhere-but he was used to it.

Until he met the Winchester boys, then everything changed.

How could you not adore a boy who would die to protect his family, or a toddler who clung to his big brother like a monkey? How could you not want to provide these kids with a sense of normalcy, especially when their _idjit _of a father was too busy dragging them from hunt to hunt?

Bobby had known Dean and Sam since they were six and two-even then, Dean was a stoeic little soldier, while Sam was an affectionate, intelligent toddler.

Now, at eight and four, they were rambunctious children-at least around Bobby.

"Dean Winchester, you better not be jumping on that bed up there!" Bobby shouted as he translated yet another excorsism.. "Don't make me tell your daddy!"

Suddenly, the jumping stopped. _Bobby Singer, you idjit. _Dean loved his father, and John loved his sons-but that didn't stop him from training them to be perfect little soldiers instead of functional human beings.

"I'm just kiddin' Dean! I'm not gonna tell your daddy!"  
Still, their was silence. But then-

"Uncle Bobby, Dean's not jumping! That was me. Dean's sleepin'," Sam exclaimed.

That seemed strange to Bobby. Dean? Sleeping in until eleven? The kid was hardwired to wake up at dawn, even when he was allowed to sleep late. Bobby walked upstairs, to the guest room that had become the boys' room, where sure enough, Dean was buried under layers of blankets.

"Hey, kiddo, time to get up!" Bobby said softly. "Your brother's waitin' for ya!"

He pulled the covers off of him-that's when he realized that something was wrong. Dean was crying. Bobby, in two years, had never seen Dean cry.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Bobby whispered, holding a hand over his forehead-the kid was burning up.

"I'm tired, Uncle Bobby," he sighed. "Really, really tired."

"Okay, kid," Bobby replied. "I'm gonna go get the thermoniter. You rest here, okay?"

Dean nodded, winced in pain, and rolled back over.

Bobby went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and grabbed the thermoniter that he had purchased just for the boys. It was one of those new-fangled inventions that you just had to rub against the forehead-better than the old mercury ones he had grown up with.

"Okay, come here, son," Bobby ran the device over Dean's forehead-you could probably fry an egg on it. _104.6. Damn it, damn it, damn it. _

"Okay buddy, you're sick. Hospital sick," Bobby announced. "You wait here well I go get your brother ready for our little road trip."

"Yeah, like I'm really gonna go anywhere," Dean slurred, rolling back over. "Can you turn the heat up? It's freezing in here!"

Bobby smiled. Even when he was sick as a dog, Dean was still as sarcastic as ever.

"Sam? Grab your coat and get in the car! We're going to the doctors!" Bobby yelled.

"But I don't wanna go to the doctors! They give me shots and it hurts!" Sam whined.

"It's not for you! You're brother's sick!"

As he expected, Sam scrambled to grab his coat and shot out of the door. Bobby heard the slamming of the car door, and then went to grab Dean.

"I know you're tired. Do you mind if I carry you?" Bobby asked. Dean shook his head, and that worried Bobby more than his temperture. If he was well, Dean Winchester would rather have bamboo splinters shoved underneath his fingernails than be caried.

So Bobby picked up the boy, noting how light the child was, and ran to the car-never realizing exactly how terrible the situation was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby, Dean, Sam, or anything else you recognize. **

**Feedback's amazing :)**

As Bobby drove towards the hospital with Sam and Dean in the backseat, he cursed himself for not noticing how sick Dean was. How did he not notice how exhasuted he seemed, how listless he was?

Sam was sobbing, those deep, hysterical sobs that could only come from a toddler. Dean wasn't even attempting to comfort him; he just lied there, with his eyes closed. _Wait, what?_

"Sam, I need ya to do me a favor," Bobby said, trying to keep his voice level. "Can ya check if Dean's breathing for me?"

A nod. Sam's small hands against Dean's chest. And then-

"BOBBY, DEAN'S NOT BREATHING!"

Bobby pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, grabbed Dean, and ran inside the double doors. Sam followed, crying and screaming for Dean; it broke Bobby's heart to look at him.

"I NEED A DOCTOR!" he bellowed.

All of a sudden, people raced towards him; a nurse was prying Dean from his arms, a tall doctor with black hair and glasses was leaning over him, performing CPR; and they were taking Dean away from him, and Sammy was chasing the gurney.

"NO, DEAN! DEAN!" Sam shrieked, reaching towards his brother.

"It's okay, Sammy," Bobby lied, grabbing the child by the waist. "He's going to be fine."

_At least, I hope so. _

It had been over six hours since they'd heard anything; four hours of screams, coughs, and tears. Sam had finally settled down a couple of hours ago, and ended up falling asleep on the floor. Bobby had picked him up; God knows what kind of germs and bacteria were on that floor.

Bobby was exhasuted too, but not in the same way that Sam was. No, he wouldn't recover with just a little nap; he needed to see Dean, to know that the kid was alright.

_Shoot, John's gonna kill me. _

That was probably true; John Winchester was absent, but he loved his sons more than anything. Knowing that Dean was sick-really sick-would kill him. He couldn't afford to lose a son, not after losing his wife. Hell, he really couldn't afford anything to go wrong at this point.

"Bobby? Bobby Singer?" the doctor from earlier walked through the double doors, towards where he was sitting.

Sam woke up, saw the doctor, and immeaditly threw his arms around Bobby's neck; Bobby shifted him into one arm and stood up, cradling the toddler like a newborn. Sam really hadn't said anything since Dean had been taken away; he'd just sat there on the floor, coughing and crying.

"That's me, Doc," Bobby extended his free hand for a hand shake. "How's Dean?"

"He's critical, but he's alive. He was without oxygen for about five minutes," the doctor began, solemnly staring at Bobby. "We brought him back and put him on a ventilator. Right now, we're thinking it's either a severe case of croup or pertussis. "

"But he's going to be okay, right?" Bobby asked, as Sam coughed again. And again. And again.

"I can't answer that question right now," the doctor answered, laying a hand on Sam's face. "Hey little guy, are you alright?"

"I don't feel good," Sam answered, as he coughed again. They were hacking, deep coughs, that sounded exactly like the barking of a sea lion. After his fit was over, he inhaled-and the _whoop _that followed made both men gasp.

"What's your name, buddy?" The doctor asked, taking his stethiscope and pressing it against his chest. "I'm Dr. Riley, but you can call me Jamie."

"Sam," he answered, wincing as the cold metal pressed against his skin.

"His lungs don't sound good," Dr. Riley said, sighing. "I'm going to have to exam him. Hey Sammy, can you come with me?"

"Don't call me Sammy. Only De can call me Sammy," Sam answered, slipping back into the use of his baby nickname for Dean.

"Got it, Sam. Will you come with me, though?" Dr. Riley asked, eager to exam the toddler. If his theory was correct, he would soon have two extremely sick kids on his hands.

"Okay," Sam yawned, reaching toward him. The doctor grabbed the child.

"I'm going to take him back, exam him, maybe get an X-Ray of his lungs. You can go sit by Dean's bed if you would like to. He's in room 413."

"Thanks, Doc," Bobby held back tears. How could he have missed _two _sick children?

"Mr. Singer," Dr. Riley said. "Don't blame yourself. This happens to a lot of parents-kids usually seem really sick, even when it's just a little cold. You couldn't have known."

_But I should have. _

**Sorry if it's absolutely horrible, I just didn't want to keep you all waiting like I have been. You'll find out what's wrong with the boys next chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby, Dean, Sam, or anything else you recognize. **

**I have no classes tomorrow, so this'll be a longer chapter. As always, feedback's amazing, and thank you for the responses!**

As he carried Sam into the examination room, James Riley thought of all the diseases that caused a cough and a high fever. Croup. Pertussis. Influenza. Pneumonia.

Those were fine. They could deal with those. Sure, a case of Whooping Cough could be pretty difficult to deal with, but the hospital could deal with that. But if it was what they thought it was, this could get ugly fast.

He laid Sam down on the examination table and grabbed a surgical mask out of the dispenser on the door. Putting it one, he held his stethiscope to Sam's chest.

"So, Sam, what hurts today?" he asked, keeping his voice calm. It was always easier to do an examination when your patient wasn't screaming and freaking out.

"My head hurts really bad," Sam said, blinking back tears. "And my tummy."

"How about your eyes?" he continued, a pit settling in his stomach. "Are they okay?"

"They hurt t-too! Everything hurts!" Sam sobbed, blinking rapidly. "M-Make it stop!"

It broke James' heart to hear exactly how much the toddler was hurting. Suddenly, Sam began to gag. Realizing what was about to happen, he grabbed an emesis bin from underneath the table and held it under the toddler's chin-just in time for him to vomit violently.

Sam was crying even harder now, screaming for Dean, screaming for his mother, screaming for his father. James took the toddler's shirt off, searching for the one thing he didn't want to see, the one thign that would confirm his worst fears-and he found it.

Beginning on Sam's back, there was a rash-the trademark purple rash of meningitis.

Sitting by Dean, knowing that he couldn't do anything to ease the boy's suffering, was difficult for Bobby.

Knowing that Sam was sick too made it even harder.

Bobby pulled off his trucker cap and wrung it in his hands. He'd tried calling John-no answer. Had the _idjit _ finally gotten himself killed, or was he still hunting whatever ghost or demon he was after this week?

All he knew was that he was glad he was the boy's proxy. He'd insisted on it about a year ago-after Dean had broken his arm pretty badly, and he couldn't authorize the surgery to put a pin in it. Now, he could say yes to any treatment or medication that would help the boys.

Suddenly, Dr. Riley walked in the room, with a somber look on his face- Sam was no where to be seen. Bobby immeadilty thought the worst-was Sam lying unconcious some where like Dean, hooked up to a ventilator?

"Dr. Riley," Bobby stood. "Is everything okay? Where's Sammy?"

"Mr. Singer," the doctor began. "I'm afraid it's not. Sam's across the hallway-I had to admit him."

"Why?" Bobby asked. "What's wrong with Sam and Dean?"

"Mr. Singer, I believe the boys have bacterial menegitis," the docter answered. "I've already started Sam on broad-spectrum antibiotics while we run his blood-I've got him set up for a spinal tap tomorrow. Dean's been on antibiotics since he got in, and I'll schedule him for a spinal tap as well."

"Menegitis?" Bobby gasped. "They're going to be alright, right?"

"I can't answer that question until I'm sure," Dr. Riley answered. "Sam's asking for you."

Bobby was torn. Sam wanted him, but Dean was lying there unconcious-what if he woke up? What if he thought that he was alone?

"Mr. Singer," Dr. Riley began. "I can get a nurse to sit with Dean while you're with Sam."

"Thanks," Bobby answered, opening the door and walking towards Sam's room.

Seeing the toddler lying so still in a bed was a strange experience; the Sam Winchester that Bobby knew couldn't stay still for five minutes. Sam had tears running down his cheeks, and he was pale; there was an IV sticking out of pudgy little hand, and the clothes he wore were not his own.

"Bobby," Sam whispered. "I got an owie."

"Ya, you sure did buddy, didn't 'cha?" Bobby smiled, hoping to calm the upset child. "Jeez, when you two get sick, you go all out don't 'cha?"

Sam nodded, and winced. "My neck hurts."

"Ya, that's part of being sick," Bobby took Sam's free hand. "Ya know, your daddy's gonna be so proud of you."

"No he won't," Sam disagreed. "I cried. And Dad's never proud of me."

Hearing those words coming from the mouth of a four year old shocked Bobby. Exactly what did John do to these kids? What was good enough for him? When a four year old boy was ashamed of crying, it was going too far.

"He'll be proud," Bobby restated. "And even if he's not, I am."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sammy smiled. "I'm tired."

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Bobby said. "I'll be here when you wake up."

So Sam closed his eyes, feeling safe, comforted, and loved.

**Yay or nay? What do you think? **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby, Dean, Sam, or anything else you recognize. **

The next morning, James Riley left for work early; he was eager to see how his two youngest patients were doing. Something about the two had captured his heart, and they were under his skin. Plus, Dean could come out of his coma at any time, and he wanted to make sure that he was there for it.

These two kids had gotten under his skin like no other patient had before, and he couldn't let them die.

He walked into Dean's room and checked his vitals; his heart rate had been steady all night, and his O2 stats were holding. He had moved in response to painful stimuli, but that was it. Today, he'd undergo a spinal tap to confirm menegitis; if there were no complications, it would be a simple procedure.

"You're going to be okay, Dean," he said, leaning towards the child-_wait, did he just blink?_

"Dean?" he repeated. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly but surely, the child opened his eyes-it was the most beautiful thing that James had ever seen. He lifted his arms, trying to pull off the mask-James signaled for him to stop.

"Let me help you," he said.

Keeping an eye on Dean's O2 stats, he slowly lifted the mask off of Dean's face. He opened his mouth- of course, it would be dry-and gestured to the water bottle. James picked it up and held it to the child's lips and waited as he took a sip. And then-

"Where's-where's Sammy?" He rasped-his O2 stats were dropping, but not by much; he would probably be able to function on a nasal cannula.

"He's in the room across the hall with Bobby," James answered.

"Can I see him?" Dean's voice was growing stronger, but it was still a harsh whisper.

"If you want, I can get you a room with him," he responded, and smiled as Dean's face lit up. "Would you like that?"

"Definately," Dean smiled.

Bobby was in the cafeteria grabbing a coffee; it had been a long night. Sam had a nightmare and wet the bed, and changing the sheets had turned into an ordeal for the nurses; every time they tried to move him, an IV would get twisted the wrong way or his heart moniter would fall off. He'd finally fallen asleep again around three, and he was still sleeping.

When he saw Dr. Riley walking towards him, he panicked. What had gone wrong? Had Sam stopped breathing? Was Dean taking a turn for the worse?

"Mr. Singer, I have really good news," he said, smiling. "Dean's awake."

Bobby sighed in relief, and then the full magnitude of what the doctor had said sunk in.

"He's awake?" Bobby exclaimed.

"Yes," he answered. "They're moving him into Sam's room now; I figured I'd tell you so you're not suprised."

"Thanks, Doc," Bobby answered, getting up. "I'll see you."

When Dean saw Sammy, his heart broke in two. The poor kid was dead asleep, tear tracks on his face, with IVs sticking out of the back of his hand. Sammy hated needles.

There was a hot twenty-four year old nurse helping him move rooms; her name was Kelly, and she had brought him a soda. That, in his eight-year-old mind, equaled the perfect woman.

"Dean, I know you love your brother," Kelly began. "But you need to take care of yourself."

"Don't worry about it, sugar," Dean smiled-he'd heard his Dad say that before to pretty waitresses at the diners they ate at. "I'll be fine."

"Okay, Romeo," Kelly laughed, hanging the antibiotics on the IV stand. "You're all set."

She left, and Dean was left alone with Sammy. Dean felt terrible-he hadn't been there for the toddler when he really needed him. Dad had only given him one mission when they left him at Bobby's-_take care of Sammy._ And he had failed.

Bobby walked into the room, and practically broke down in tears when he saw Dean sitting up in bed, awake and alert. Sure, the kid was on oxygen, but he was much better than the last time Bobby had seen him.

"Hey Bobby," Dean whispered, looking up quickly-were those tears in his eyes?

"What's wrong, Dean?" Bobby asked, frantic. "What hurts?"

"Nothing," Dean responded. "I just-I should have been there for Sammy."

"What?" Bobby said, incredalous. "You were in a coma."

"I know, but I should have been there. I should have been here to hold his hand and make sure that he was alright. I failed him, and I failed Dad," Dean sobbed.

Bobby was heartbroken; here was an eight year old boy, still incrediabley sick, feeling guilty for being in a coma. What exactly had John done to his boys?

"Dean. Listen to me," Dean looked up, into Bobby's face. "You're sick. Even sicker than Sammy. I know you love your brother, and want to be there for him-but you have to take care of yourself. You didn't fail Sam, and you sure as hell didn't fail your Daddy. You need to know that."

"But-" Dean began, but Bobby cut him off.

"Dean, I'm proud of you. For being so strong. For being such a good big brother. But most of all, for being you."

Tears fell freely from the boy's eyes. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Well, it's true," Bobby gave the boy a hug. "I'm glad your awake."

"Bobby," Dean said. "Thanks."

**I'm sorry for the really boring chapter, but it's a bridge to the next one. Reviews are amazing. **


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby, Dean, Sam, or anything else you recognize.

It had been a long hunt.

As John Winchester packed up his trunk, he thought about it; it had been a standard possession, nothing supernaturally special. The vessel had been twenty four, a young single mother; the demon had locked her two toddlers in the closet, and John had gone in to grab them. The oldest one-three years old-looked like his his youngest.

Or maybe it was just his guilty conscience, because he hadn't seen his sons in two weeks.

_Sonuvabitch._

He hadn't checked his voicemail since he'd left; what if Dean or Sam had left him a message? He knew that they were safe with Bobby, but maybe they needed him.

He pulled out his phone and cursed when he saw four missed messages, all from Bobby's house. Listening to them, they got more and more clipped and angry.

"John, Dean and Sam are sick. Really sick. Dean's...Dean's in a coma. Sam's in pain, and the doctors are talking spinal taps and surgeries and all sorts of other things. Please, just show up."

"John. Sam's terrified. Get your sorry ass here for your sons, ya idjit."

"John, if you don't show up here soon I'm gonna blow your ass full of buckshot."

And the last one was probably the worst:

"WINCHESTER, YA IDJIT. YOUR SONS ARE LYING HERE IN THE HOSPITAL, ABOUT TO GO GET NEEDLES SHOVED INTO THEIR SPINES. I SWEAR, THE NEXT TIME I SEE YOUR I'M GONNA WRING YOUR NECK, YA IDJIT."

_Damn it, I've got to get there, _John thought as he gunned the engine on the Impala. His kids were in pain. And they needed him.

He wouldn't stop until he got there and was standing by their bedsides.

"Okay, Dean, do you know what's about to happen?" Dr. Riley asked Dean.

"You're going to shove that needle-" Dean pointed to the long, lethal-looking needle that was lying on the tray. "Into my back, and I have to be curled up in a ball and not move."

"That's right. It's important that you don't move at all-you could damage your spine," the doctor explained. "Are you ready?"

"Is it going to hurt?" Dean asked, hating how weak he sounded.

"No," he said. "You'll just feel a small pinch."

"Okay," Dean sighed.

"Alright, knees into your chest, neck down," Kelly said, assisting the child in getting in the right position. "Stay still, and think about something else. How about the best day ever?"

So Dean did. He remember the picnic he had gone on with his Mom and Dad and Sammy a month before _it _happened. He remembered how he and Dad had tossed a football around while Mom had held Sammy, and then how Mom had taken him to get an ice cream and told him that he was a great brother and an even better son. And he'd smiled and mom had kissed him and then he'd gone back and held Sammy for a while. But then, they had to leave.

It was one of the few memories he had of his mother, and he clung to it like a rock.

"Okay Dean, we're almost done here," Dr. Riley told him, pulling the needle out slowly. "You're going to be in recovery for a few hours, and then you can go back to your room."

"Is Sammy okay?" Dean asked, as Kelly rolled him onto his back.

"Yeah, he's fine Dean," Dr. Riley answered. "Now relax. Kelly's going to bring you over to recovery."

The pediatrics recovery room was painted in bright green and a farm mural; it was so cheery that it made Dean want to puke. He would be stuck in here for three hours, with nothing but his thoughts. He couldn't even turn his head to watch TV, for fear it would cause a spinal headache.

"Do you want me to get Bobby, Dean?" Kelly asked.

"Please," Dean asked, as his stomach began to churn.

Bobby was sitting by Sam's bed, worrying about Dean; he'd gone in for a lumbar puncture about a half hour ago, and he had insisted that Bobby stay with Sam. He was just about to go looking for him when the nurse Dean had a crush on came in. What was her name-Keri? Kira? Kelly?

"Bobby? Dean's asking for you," she said. "I can take you down to him."

Bobby looked down at Sam for a minute, conflicted-and then decided that Dean needed him more right now. Following the nurse down to a room marked RECOVERY 3, he braced himself and walked through the double doors.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean greeted him.

"Hey, Dean," Bobby replied. "How ya doing?"

"Alright, I guess," Dean said, right before he started gagging. Knowing what was coming, Bobby grabbed the emesis bin that was on the chair and thrusted it under his mouth right before he threw up.

"Ya, sure you are," Bobby replied, pulling the bin away.

"I'll get some antiemetic," Kelly said, as she walked out of the room.

"You okay?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah," Dean answered, closing his eyes. "My head kinda hurts."

"I'm sorry, kiddo," Bobby said; the kid was obviously in agony, but he'd never admit it.

"Bobby?" Dean asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ya, Dean?" The grizzled hunter replied.

"Do you think my Dad cares that I'm in here right now? Because I think if he did, he'd be here."

Dean looked up into Bobby's eyes, pain and fear evident; all the kid wanted was his Daddy. He wanted to believe that his father cared about him, that his dad was simply caught up somewhere, and he'd be there soon.

"Ya, Dean; I think he cares a lot," Bobby answered, grabbing the kid's hand. "And I'm sure that he'll be here soon."

"You should probably go back and be with Sammy; he's going to be scared," Dean said. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked; he knew that Dean's needs always came after Sam's needs when his father was around.

"Yeah, I don't want Sammy to be alone," he responded. "He needs you."

Sammy was lying on the gurney, staring at the needle that the doctor was hurting; was he going to give him a _shot _with that needle? That would hurt even worse than the last one he got!

"Are you gonna give me a shot?" Sam whimpered, wishing that Dean was there holding his hand like he usually did when Sam was scared.

"Kind of," the doctor said. "But it'll be over soon."

"Where's Dean? He always holds my hand when I get a shot!" Sammy shrieked.

"Dean can't be here, but I can get Bobby for you," James bargained; he wanted to avoid a tantrum by all means possible.

"I want Dean!"

Just then, Bobby Singer walked into the room, wearing a gown and gloves; the area had to be kept sterile, or there was a risk of Sam developing an infection on top of his meningitis. Bobby walked towards the gurney and kneeled down, so that he was on Sam's level.

"Sam, Dean can't be here, because he's sick too," Bobby began, staring at the toddler. "Dean just had the same shot; he said that its not that bad. Can you be brave, like your brother?"

"O-Okay," Sam sniveled.

"Are we ready?" Dr. Riley asked, holding the needle.

"Yes," Sam whispered, curling up and closing his eyes.

Bobby watched as the long needle disappeared into the child's back, and slowly came back out; he stared at Sam's face as he slowly opened his eyes.

"We're done here, Sam," Dr. Riley said. "You're going to go to a room where you can rest for a little bit, and then you can go back to your room."

"Can I see Dean?" the toddler asked, looking up at Bobby.

"Can he, doc?" Bobby asked.

"I'll pull some strings to get them in the same recovery room," Dr. Riley responded. "I'll get a nurse to take you guys."

A few minutes later, a nurse was bringing them down to Dean's recovery room, and Sam was smiling from ear to ear.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled at his little brother. "Not so bad, was it?"  
"It was scary," Sam admitted. "But I tried to be brave like you."

Dean took Sam's hand and smiled at him. "Sammy, you don't have to try to be brave; you _are _brave."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said. "I love you."

"I love you too, Sammy," Dean replied. "Now go to sleep."

After Sam had drifted off to sleep, Dean was still awake; he still felt like he was going to throw up, even though the nurse had given him some kind of medicine.

"You should sleep too, Dean," Bobby told him.

"Can't," Dean responded, still staring at his baby brother's face.

"You know, you're amazing with him," Bobby said. "He absolutely worships you."

"I have to be," Dean explained. "He's the only one I've got."

**Reviews, please?**


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby, Dean, Sam, or anything else you recognize.

John Winchester turned sharply into the parking lot of the hospital and parked the Impala in the first spot that he saw; it was a handicapped space. _Figures, _he thought bitterly. He didn't have time to find another spot; his kids needed him, and he wanted to be by their bedsides.

John sprinted through the automatic doors and towards the secretary, who stared up at him blankly. Didn't she realize this was important? Didn't she realize that he needed to see his sons, his only reasons for living?

"Can I help you?" she asked-her voice was monotone, and that annoyed John. Couldn't she at least to pretend that she cared that he looked half out of his mind?

"I need a room number," John replied. "For two kids. Their names are Dean and Sam Winchester."

"Give me a minute," she answered, typing on the keyboard-the seconds ticked by like hours for John, who stood there, waiting.

"They're not supposed to have any vistors but family," the witch of a secretary said, smirking at John. "Are you related to them?"

"Yes, I'm their father," John snapped, taking his wallet out of his pocket to find his license. _Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake. _Then he found his actual license and handed it to the sorry excuse for a human.

"Okay. They're in room 413," she told him, handing him his license.

He took off towards the elevator, focused on his sons. How could they forgive him this time? He hadn't been there when they really needed him; he hadn't been there holding his youngest's hand when he'd been being treated, hadn't been there when Dean was in a coma.

_What would Mary say to me?_

If Mary was here, everything would be different. She'd know the right things to say, know exactly what to do; she'd tell Dean and Sam stories with happy endings and make sure that they knew that she would always be there. But Mary wasn't here, and he was, the sorry excuse for a father.

He was outside of Sam and Dean's room, staring at the two; they were asleep, and Bobby was too. John sank into a chair by Sam's bed, watching the toddler sleep.

It was going to be alright now that they were together.

When Bobby woke up and saw John sitting by Sam's bed, his first thought was _thank God that the idjit's finally here. _

Then, he realized how furious he was at the _idjit. _He'd left Bobby alone with his two kids in the hospital for three days. Three long days of screams and sickness, of pain and tears.

And now he waltzed back in, like it was perfectly acceptable.

"John, can you come outside with me for a minute?" Bobby asked through gritted teeth.

"Sure," John answered, oblivious to how angry Bobby was.

Bobby brought John far away from the boy's room-far enough away that they wouldn't hear what was about to happen.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, YOU _IDJIT? _YOU'RE KIDS HAVE BEEN SITTING HERE, ASKING FOR YOU FOR THREE DAYS. THREE DAYS. DEAN WAS OUT OF IT FOR AN ENTIRE DAY, AND WHERE WERE YOU? OUT BEING A FRIGGING _IDJIT_! I COULD THROTTLE YOU! I SWEAR, IF I HAD MY RIFLE WITH ME I'D BLOW YOUR ASS FULL OF BUCKSHOT!" Bobby shouted, the veins in his neck pulsing dangerously.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," John began. "I got caught up in the hunt, and I didn't check my messages."

"THAT'S ALL YOU CAN SAY? THAT'S YOUR EXCUSE?" John had never seen Bobby this pissed off; he was tempted to back away.

"I'm sorry, Bobby. But right now, I have to be with my sons," John repeated, staring Bobby in the face; it was red, his eyes were filled with rage-but what John said was true, and Bobby began to calm down.

"That's right you do. But first, you need to talk to Dean," Bobby told him, fuming.

John's first instinct was always to check on Sam-as the younger of the two, he was more vulnerable, and needed more protection. That's what he told himself, anyway. Dean always seemed to be fine-why would he need that level of attention?

"Why?" John asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Because the kid doesn't know that you care about him!" Bobby shouted. "He thinks that all you care about is Sam-and it's easy to get that impression, John. You frigging _obsess _over that boy, and all you ever say to Dean is _take care of Sam. _You see how that Dean just _might _feel the tiniest bit insignifigant?"

"Oh God, Bobby," John sighed, sinking to the floor. "What've I done?"

"Just talk to the kid. Be honest to him, and tell him that you love him," Bobby instructed. "Let him know that you care."

Dean was lying in bed, wondering where Bobby had gone. It had been about ten minutes since he'd woken up and saw only Sam-and since Bobby hadn't left their bedside for more than a minute in the past three days, all of Dean's red flags were up.

When Dean saw his father in the door, he blinked and rubbed his eyes. When he realized that it really was his Dad, he smiled.

"Hey Dad," he whispered, gesturing to Sammy. "He's asleep, so we've got to be quiet."

"Okay," John smiled at his eldest and gave him a hug, something he hadn't done in over a year-God, how could he have done that to his own child?

"Dean, I'm so sorry that I haven't been here," John apologized. "There's no way I can ever make this up to you, and you have every right to hate me right now. But I want you to know that I love you. More than you could realize. You know, you really remind me of your Mom. You're brave like she was, and as protective as she was. And you're independant like her."

"Really?" Dean asked, his eyes wide.

"Definately. You look like her too," John answered, smiling. "I think that's why I worry less about you-you're more careful and thoughtful when it comes to being practical, like your Mom, while Sam's like me; jump into it and figure things out later."

"Thanks, Dad," Dean smiled. "I love you too."

For a minute, everything was amazing; Dean felt loved and safe, and comfortable for the first time in days. But then he began to feel kind of strange. And then he blacked out.

John was sitting by Dean's bed, worried; the little color in the kid's face had drained, and his eyes were wide-suddenly, he began shaking. And he didn't stop.

"HELP! I NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!" he shouted as the doctors and nurses came in.

"He's seizing-"

"Sir, you're going to have to leave," a nurse was pushing him away from his oldest.

"DEAN!" John screamed, watching him thrash.

Sam had woken up, and was screaming for Dean; a nurse picked him up and took him away so that he wouldn't have to watch.

And then the door shut, and John was left standing there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby, Dean, Sam, or anything else you recognize. I know that the conversation with John and Dean last chapter seemed over the top and out of character, but I always figured if his kids were hurt he'd be different; plus, he's totally freaked out. **

Dean was scared.

The last thing he remembered was talking to his Dad, having a total chick-flick moment; then he woke up in his room, confused, exhausted and surrounded by doctors. They were talking in long medical terms, the kind of words that annoyed him because he was only in the third grade and he didn't know what they were saying

"Hey Dean, you with us?" Kelly asked, straightening his nasal cannula.

"Yeah," Dean answered. "What happened?"

"You had a seizure," she answered-he liked that she was being honest. He hated when the doctors tried to sugar-coat things because he was young.

"Did Sammy see?" he asked, worried; the last thing he wantd to do was scare his little brother.

"Dean, he's fine. Let's worry about you for a little bit, okay?" Dr. Riley chimed in. "I'll be right back; I've got to talk to your father about doing a few tests.

XXX

John was sitting with Sam in a room directly across from where Dean was, waiting for an update and consoling his youngest. Sam was throwing up-maybe because he was sick, or maybe because he was worried about Dean. John said and did all the right things, but it was so hard to make himself feel sorry for him.

When Dean's doctor walked into the room, John practically attacked him.

"How's Dean?" he asked.

"Stable. We want to give him an EEG and an MRI to see exactly why he had a seizure, but we need your consent," Dr. Riley answered, handing him a paper and a pen.

John scanned it; it might as well have been written in Chinese, because he didn't understand a word it said. He signed and handed the paper back.

"We've got the results on your boys," Dr. Riley answered. "It's meningococcal meningitis. Dean probably gave it to Sam through sharing a drink, or even a toy. Because neither boy had a vaccine, they were already at a higher risk. We've already started Dean on Ceftriaxone, and we'll switch Sam over immediately."

"What are their chances?" John asked, running a hand through his youngest's hair; his kids meant the world to him.

"Meningococcal meningitis has a fatality rate of anywhere from five to fifteen percent, and we'll know more about Sam and Dean's chances after about a day on the new antibiotics," he answered. "If it's working, their fevers will go down, they might start asking for food instead of us having to make them eat, and they'll just appear to be more healthy. It's not going to happen overnight; they'll be in here for about another four to five days at the least."

"Okay," John replied, although it _wasn't _okay. How could anything be okay, when his kids were sick because of him? Dean could've caught the virus from any one of the people at the crappy diners and fleabag motels that they visited, and Sam probably got it when John had made them share a drink at the diner, because he was running short on cash.

_I'm sorry, guys. _

XXX

Getting an EEG done was extremely boring.

When the process has started, the first thing that the doctor had done was attach all sorts of little electrodes to Dean's head; they would measure the electrical impulses in his head. Then, they had turned on some flashing lights, hoping to provoke some weird activity in his brain. He had to sit there for what felt like forever, until finally they had taken off the electrodes and brought him to the MRI.

They made him take off his watch and everything else that was metal before they slid him onto the table; then, the table moved into the huge magnet.

Inside, it was loud and cramped; he had to stay still, and it was _long. _Every now and then, the machine would make a loud _bang_, and he would flinch.

"Okay Dean, we're done. We're taking you out now."

The table moved out, and he was back in the open room, able to breathe.

"We're going to bring you back to your room," Dr. Riley told Dean as he inserted his IV. "This medicine is different from the stuff we had you on before, it should make you better much more quickly."

"Hey, Dr. Riley?" Dean asked. "When am I getting out of here?"

"Soon, Dean," he replied. "Really soon."

**Reviews? Sorry about the short chapter, I'll update soon if you're still interested. It's coming to a close; the next chapter's going to be the last. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby, Dean, Sam, or anything else you recognize. **

**You guys have had some awesome reviews, and I hope you keep giving them. I'm entertaining three different ideas for my next fanfic, but if anyone has a request I'll work on it. **

It was a bittersweet day for John Winchester. Today, Sam was being released after two weeks in the hospital. In the past week and a half, his temperture had returned to normal, his headaches had stopped, and he was back to being the energenic kid he had been before everything had started.

Dean, however, needed a couple more days. He hadn't slept for more than a couple hours aa night, and his fever was holding at 102. He spent half of his time trying to convince John that he was alright, and the other half grimacing in pain because of his headache. On the bright side, his neck pain had subsided, and he had felt good enough to eat his breakfast and complain about the hospital food.

"Dad, why isn't Dean coming with us?" Sam asked, looking up at his brother and clutching his teddy bear, Goober. Dean had got it for him when he was still a baby, and it went everywhere with him.

"Dean's gonna stay here and rest up for a couple more days, kiddo," John told his youngest, picking him up in a rare display of affection. This entire situation had shaken him to the core, and he was going to coddle his kids for a few days whether they liked it or not.

"But I want him to come home with us," tears welled up in the toddlers eyes-he hadn't spent a day away from Dean in _forever, _and he hated leaving his brother behind.

"I'm okay, Sammy," Dean told his brother, forcing his voice to be cheerful. "I'll be back home before you know it."

"But you'll be lonely," Sam said. "Here, take Goober. He'll take care of you."

"Sammy, I can't take Goober. He's yours," Dean shook his head. "I don't want you to miss him."

"But I won't miss him, because I know I'll see him when I visit you, and you'll protect him," Sam insisted, placing his teddy bear by Dean's side. "I'll see you tomorrow.

John smiled and held his youngest even tighter. His sons would always take care of each other, and for that he was grateful.

ABCDEFG

Sammy was excited.

Dean had been gone for almost _forever_, but today they were going to pick him up. Dad hadn't let him go visit, because Dean had to rest, but today he was allowed to go while Dad and Bobby did boring grown-up things. He had helped Bobby make Dean a cake and put up balloons and he even got to pick out a gift for Dean. He'd chosen a new baseball glove and a ball, 'cause Dean said that he liked baseball.

"Sammy? Ready to go get Dean?" John asked, sticking his head into the boys' room. Dean's gifts laid on the bed, and streamers hung from the ceiling. It had been Sam's idea to have this welcome back party, and John had been happy to oblige. After all that his kids had been through, they deserved to have a little fun.

"Yeah, Dad!" Sam exclaimed, running toward the Impala. John chuckled and began to drive toward the hospital.

It was amazing how different this ride felt; when he had first driven to this same hospital less than three weeks ago, he had been anxious and upset. Now, he was relaxed and excited-both of his boys were going to be home.

The second he pulled into the parking lot, Sam had jumped out of the car and took off towards the doors. John followed, gleefully anticipating the moment that they would all walk out together.

ABCDEFG

Dean was sitting on his bed, dressed in his own clothes, watching Bobby pack. He'd tried to help him, but Bobby had told him to relax. It annoyed him, but at the same time he appreciated the fact that Bobby was trying to help.

He was also totally psyched to be going back to Bobby's. Going back to Bobby's place meant he could wear actual clothes, eat real food, and start living again. It was going to be great.

Suddenly, Sammy burst into the room. "Dean! Dean, we're going home!"

"That's right, Sammy," Dean laughed. "We're going to have a great time, right?"

"Yeah! We can play tag and hide-and-go-seek and read books-" Sam started.

"Not so much so fast, tiger," John Winchester walked into the room and looked his oldest over with a wary eye. "How're you feeling, Dean?"

"Better than ever, sir," Dean grinned.

"Good to hear," John gifted his eldest with a rare smile. "I've already finished the paperwork-we can leave when you're ready."

"Got everything packed up over here," Bobby said. "Let's go."

A nurse entered the room with a wheelchair.

"Sorry, it's hospital procedure," she said sheepishly.

Dean sighed and sat down. When they got to the Impala, he leaped up and ran to the shot gun side; John couldn't help but laugh. His happy, healthy kids were back.

And he would do anything to keep it that way.


End file.
